


Like a Demon

by nekketsukoha



Category: Original Work
Genre: Conspiracy, Crimes & Criminals, Delinquents, Gen, Like "Like a Dragon", Yakuza, explicit violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekketsukoha/pseuds/nekketsukoha
Summary: Inspired by the Yakuza / Ryuu ga Gotoku series, "Like a Demon" takes place in a crime-filled entertainment district in Japan, starring Ryuji Ishikawa: an angry delinquent with his own sense of justice, caught up in a yakuza conspiracy which sees him framed for murder. Alongside Shigeki Itaru, a shady, low-ranking yakuza, the two uncover a plot for an all-out war between the eastern and western crime syndicates.





	Like a Demon

Orange light floods in from the open windows, filling the hallway with a strange yet comforting feeling. For a moment, life is frozen in time, before a sudden ringing sounds throughout the building, and suddenly, several bodies begin to move at once. From the classrooms, students emerged and flooded those hallways, excited and chatting amongst one another. It was the weekend; it was time for some well-earned freedom. There were, of course, a few students who remained behind: those that were in charge of cleaning up the classrooms. 

Cleaning the floors, desks, boards and windows, Ryuji looked down from his vantage. The student body was now collectively funneling through the school’s main entrance, before fanning out and dispersing into the city. Some were bound back home, some to the subway stations, and most to the entertainment district—Even it was early, nobody wanted to lose a spot. Ryuji didn’t remain there for long, going back to his duties with silent reserve. 

By the time it was his turn to leave, the sky began to bleed purple as dawn was slowly becoming night. Once Ryuji was clear of the sight of the school, the buttons on his uniform came undone as he dug into his backpack for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. In the sanctitude of a dark and smokey arcade, he brought a spark to his face before it was extinguished with a tired exhale. The tiny spark, and the glow from the cabinet’s screen reflected on his face, and for a while, Ryuji was able to find some peace. 

This was Ibuki Funland, a place of personal refuge for young businessmen and younger delinquents. It was on the third floor where the young and old gathered, the former playing fighting games on one side, and the latter playing video mahjong on the other. It was a place where even regulars were strangers to one another, separated by a set of heavy, flashing machinery, but there was comfort in that anonymity. One could escape judgement from the peers, to regain a sense of youth through competition, or simply kill time away from their home. Ryuji had his money set aside: 1000 yen in coins, good for four games—If he lost each game. Of course, he didn’t plan to lose, and if he played well, he could really make those coins last. 

Despite it being a Friday night, there weren’t a plethora of opponents. Rather, it was just one who constantly rematched Ryuji. Slowly, he had managed to whittle Ryuji down and out of his money, which he was content with. It was a real fight for his claim, which made for better entertainment compared to just crushing lesser skilled opponents. Ryuji snuffed the cigarette out on the ashtray on the cabinet’s dashboard, before standing up with bag over his shoulder. There was still some money in his pockets: enough to buy a few drinks and dinner for the night. After being stuck inside that smokey den for so long, it was always nice to escape into the cold, night air. 

The interior of the konbini was cleaner than both the arcade and the city streets. Between the bright lights and the hot food display, the place was warm, but sterile. It invited you in, but Ryuji never wanted to stay. He quickly made his purchases and leave. Taking off his school jacket and presenting a fake ID allowed him to buy alcohol to go along with his instant ramen and onigiri. It wasn’t exactly five-star yakiniku, and that wasn’t something Ryuji could afford right now. 

With a plastic bag in one hand, and his school jacket over his shoulder, Ryuji walked in silence. Whoever passed him by always let their gaze linger on him longer, staring and studying him in those brief encounters. Were they cautious? Afraid? Worried to invoke some anger out of him? You were never meant to judge a book by its cover, but you couldn’t completely disregard outward appearances. Between the resting scowl and dyed hair, Ryuji carried the air of a typical delinquent: violent and sporadic, as if simply being looked at wrong would cause an outburst. Even when lost, people would assume he was drifting with some purpose in mind. At least, that was what his visage portrayed.

He was homebound now, moving through busy streets and empty alleys alike. Though this city was always changing, breathing, there were a few things that remained constant. To his right, Ryuji saw a group of men gathered around a barrel fire in one of the district’s long abandoned small parks. Technically, they weren’t allowed to loiter there, but they had nowhere else to go. Through circumstances outside of their own control, the city streets were now their home, as cruel and unforgiving as they were. 

Ryuji gave the men little more than a passing glance, before facing forward and continuing on his path. He had almost reached the street’s end, before the shouting behind him drowned out the growing din of the crowd before him. When Ryuji turned, he was greeted by a new, more ugly sight: a gang of delinquents appeared, like a pack of hyenas. They were loud, annoying, and aggressive, cheering amongst themselves as they entered the park, surrounding the homeless men and eying them hungrily. 

“Hey, you old geezers! You know you’re not allowed here, right? This is public property, not your personal shitting ground!”  
“Come on, shouldn’t you know better? If you’re gonna keep staying here, you’re gonna need to start paying rent!”  
“Yeah, consider it giving back to the city, you damn parasites!” 

Though they were even in numbers, the men were meek in comparison. Broken down in their spirit and their confidence, they were left crestfallen and downtrodden. They didn’t have anywhere left to go, nowhere to go back to. Always left out in the cold, they only had one another, the other unfortunate souls of this city. One of the men took the lead, trying to stand up for themselves, which only made him a target. One of the punks raised their fist, before striking the man to the ground. 

They were sadists as much as they were scum, taking joy in the fact they could attack without the fear of retaliation. It was what let them be especially cruel and weak all the same. While the hyenas were wheezing amongst themselves, Ryuji approached them from behind, setting down his jacket and his food, signaling his presence to the others. They turned with confusion and irritation, not wanting their fun to be interrupted. 

“And what do you want, shithead?” One of them barked, immediately reaching and grabbing Ryuji by his shirt and pulling him in. “You got a problem with us, huh?!”  
“Yeah, I do.” Ryuji responded, having not budged.  
“What, don’t tell me you actually feel bad for these pieces of shit?” One of them asked, squaring up alongside his companion.  
“Looks to me like we got someone who wants to be a hero! The dumb fuck!” 

Their attention quickly turned from the homeless men to Ryuji, circling around him and cracking their knuckles. They were high off their own fumes. If they could handle the homeless, then this guy would be no different. Comparatively, they stood at around the same height: Ryuji at 180 centimeters, the rest somewhere around there. Even their hairstyles were reminiscent of one another—Pushed back and dyed, only Ryuji’s was dyed blond. They all looked like the same type of delinquent burnout. 

Whatever assumptions they had about how this encounter would play out were dashed when Ryuji suddenly grabbed the punk’s wrist. “Fuck, fuck!” The grip Ryuji held on him was almost enough to shatter his wrist, and when Ryuji cranked the wrist to the side, the punk’s body followed, kneeling on the ground in pain. Their suffering was brought to a head when Ryuji reeled back a fist, delivering it straight into the punk’s face. The eruption of blood. The cracking of bones. The punk fell onto his back and clutched his face, squirming about in agony. 

Swift to avenge their fallen friend, another of the thugs tried to throw a kick at Ryuji, only for Ryuji to catch it, and sweep the other, off-balance leg. With him on the ground, Ryuji turned to face the others, those that were swifter in their retaliation. They didn’t waste any time, trying to throw sucker punches aimed at his head. Wild and without any direction, one of the punches only landed square on Ryuji’s forehead, the other in his gut. Through his resolve, Ryuji persevered, shrugging off that pain and throwing his own counter attack. 

Ducking low, Ryuji shot for the nearest delinquent’s legs. In one motion, he took away their footing, before sending them onto their back. As Ryuji prepared to kick them while they were down, he was grabbed from behind, with both of his arms locked up above him. Twisting and pulling, Ryuji eventually overpowered the last punk, throwing an elbow back and hitting him in the face. The stunning blow was followed up with a knee strike to the stomach, causing him to keel over in pain. Raising his hands up together, Ryuji delivered the final blow: a double hammer fist to the back of the head. 

With all of them on the ground, Ryuji stood above them, waiting for one of them to make a move. As they writhed and rose to their feet, their faces had changed to that of fear. “F-Fuck this! Fuck you, fucking asshole!” One of them shouted, before standing up and trying to tend to the others. “You fucked with the wrong people. I’m not gonna forget your face, you shitfuck!” The shouting and profanity carried on, until their backs were turned to Ryuji, and they disappeared, beaten and humiliated, into the crowded streets. 

Ryuji huffed, running a hand through his hair as he watched them flee. After some time had passed, and the gang hadn’t returned, he breathed a sigh of relief, before going to get his jacket and bag. “E-Excuse me!” One of the men stopped Ryuji, asking for his attention. “Yeah?” Ryuji responded, turning with the bag and jacket in hand. “Thank you for helping us.” 

“. . . Ah, no problem.” Ryuji awkwardly responded, scratching his head. It was hard for him to recall, but easy for him to justify. To use one’s power to protect the powerless. He was little more than a stone, resting at the bottom of a great pond, but even a single stone can cause a powerful ripple should it travel to the surface once more. He was a stranger in this city. “Here, ya can have this.” Reaching into his bag, Ryuji pulled out the stored cans of alcohol and passed it to them. The man’s eyes lit up in disbelief, hands reaching out gingerly. “R-Really!?” 

“Mhm. Don’t worry ‘bout it.” 

“Thank you, thank you so much!” The man bowed in gratefulness, and the rest of them in turned gave their thanks. Ryuji nodded, and took his leave. He didn’t know what compelled him to give them that parting gift, but it wasn’t an act he was regretting now. It was a small kindness, one that he didn’t need to see repaid. The other part was just him doing his. . . Duty? 

“Wait! Can I get your name first?” Ryuji paused at the end of the alleyway, before turning to address them. “Ishikawa Ryuji.” He answered quickly, before turning his back once more and exiting. 

It wasn’t long before the sounds of the crowd surrounding him had drowned out his thoughts, guiding him like a stream back to its delta: the Shinjuku Station. Ryuji disappeared among the masses, once again that rock that rested at the bottom, one among many other faces. He took his place on the train, and rode it out to the station over, where a place was waiting for him.

It couldn’t really be called a home. It was a small, one-bedroom flat with all the essentials: A futon, a TV, a kitchen, a bathroom, a space heater, and a bonsai tree, resting on the window sill. The latter served as the only decoration in the otherwise featureless room—Besides the jacket that hung above the futon. Emblazoned on its leather back was the visage of the mythical demon king: Shuten-douji, his scowling visage being cast downwards. 

The story of a demon child who grew to become a terrible force in the world, reigning on high from his mountain lair was a fantasy that spoke to him—Unwise as it was. In a way, Ryuji thought the image of the demon king was a reflection of his own struggles, the burdens that he carried. Something like that. Ryuji’s thoughts weren’t on the symbolism now—He was hungry and tired. 

Ryuji laid on his side, eyes going from the TV screen to the electric kettle, watching steam rise past visions of mechas fighting one another on a desolated earth. The kettle sounded, and finally, Ryuji was able to enjoy his meal: Chashu instant ramen. The place was comfortable, probably due to the warm atmosphere and the isolation. It was his own personal space, a place of refuge he could always return to, but it was still empty. It wasn’t like the home that waited for him back in Osaka. It was a building, but not a dwelling.

These thoughts carried on into Ryuji’s own drowsiness, and very soon he found himself drifting off into sleep. It was on that simple futon that he began to dream of a familiar past. It’s a place Ryuji came back to time and time again, an orphanage at the base of the mountains. The same scene plays out before him—A group of kids chasing another one, putting him into a corner. The cornered child has long black hair that covers his face, and past the tears that form in his eyes, there’s a seething anger; it’s like blood boiling, rising to the surface, enough to make a heart burst. He lashes out blindly, with claws and teeth like he’s no longer human. A demon child scorned.


End file.
